


The Fashion Affair

by chaostheoryy



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, In a way Napoleon asserts himself as a sugar daddy but lbr he's just trying to make an impression, M/M, One-Shot, Post-Movie, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fic, Shopping, Suit Kink, Suit Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheoryy/pseuds/chaostheoryy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Napoleon discovers Illya's fashion sense is unfitting for the evening's undercover mission, he takes it upon himself to insure that his partner has exactly what he needs. To Illya's dismay, however, that means going shopping for a suit with America's most mischievous secret agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fashion Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is my first Napollya story, so do be lenient in regards to my characterization. I'm still getting a feel for writing them. Also, this story was written in response to a prompt given to me by an anon on Tumblr who requested a story involving Napoleon taking Illya shopping.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy! And don't forget to leave kudos/comments!
> 
> -Allie (profoundmurderbond)

"You have got to be kidding me."

Illya spun around at the sound of the familiar voice that had spoken from behind him and found Napoleon Solo standing in the doorway of his hotel room with a look of absolute revulsion plastered on his face. He furrowed his brow, his blue eyes narrowing. He followed Napoleon's gaze down to his tweed jacket before returning his focus to the American. "What is there to be 'kidding' about? This is excellent outfit."

"And I'm sure it is," Napoleon responded, strolling casually across the room, " _If_ you were going to a race at the Del Mar fairgrounds." Illya scowled but remained silent as Napoleon approached him. "Do me a favor, would you, Peril?"

"That depends on what this favor is."

Napoleon gave him a disgustingly charming smile, one that reminded Illya far too much of a sly fox. "Relax," Napoleon said nonchalantly, "I'm just trying to save you from becoming a social pariah. Now, go on and give us a twirl." The look Illya gave him was meant to be intimidating but, to the Russian's dismay, it only made Napoleon's mischievous smirk grow wider. "Don't be shy. I'm not here to judge your grace."

Illya clenched his jaw and took a deep, calming breath before turning in a slow circle. The entire time he rotated, he could feel Napoleon's eyes raking over every inch of his body. It was slightly discomforting being held under the scrutiny of a pair of eyes that have perused countless numbers of bodies both clothed and naked alike. Not that Napoleon was surveying his actual body, of course. This was an observation of dress choice not physique.

"You know what? I'm going to by-pass the formality of asking if you would like me to help you prepare for tonight's party and demand that you come with me," Napoleon stated before turning and striding toward the door.

Illya was taken aback and was more than ready to argue with the American but Napoleon was out the door before he could even formulate a sentence. With an incomprehensive grumble, he hustled after his partner, slamming the door shut behind him. "Where is it we are going exactly?"

"To visit my dearest friend, the tailor," Napoleon responded with a grin.

 

* * *

 

The taxi ride across town was agonizing. With his knees digging into the back of the seat in front of him and his spine hunched to allow him to fit inside, Illya found it impossible to get comfortable. Every time they drove over a pothole or bump in the road, the back of his head slammed against the roof of the car with a loud thud.

"How much longer will I be stuck in this pygmy motorcar?" Illya mumbled, pressing his right hand against the roof to brace himself for an oncoming stop.

"Another ten minutes, give or take," Napoleon responded casually. He gave Illya a brief once over before smirking devilishly. "Feeling a little squished there, Peril?"

Illya threw Napoleon an icy glare. "You are lucky I do not shoot you in the head."

Napoleon chuckled. "Trust me, for every moment you keep yourself from murdering me I spend a good fifteen seconds in a silent prayer of thanks."

The corner of Illya's mouth twitched. He fought the urge to smile and looked out the window. The last thing he needed was for Napoleon Solo to know that his charm was enough to break through the walls of the KGB's finest agent.

 

* * *

 

For Illya, getting out of the taxi was twice as difficult as getting in it. He was forced to twist his torso into the most uncomfortable position and kick his legs out the door before sliding out and unfolding his long limbs.

Once he was free from the confinement of the back seat and had eased the kinks out of his muscles, Illya followed Napoleon inside the awaiting shop. Stepping inside, the Russian found himself drowning in a sea of wool and cotton. Racks bearing suits and ties of every size and color lay before him and shelf after shelf of shoes lined the walls on either side of his body. There were more styles in this single shop than he had ever seen on the backs of people in his home country.

"Ah, Mr. Solo! Always a pleasure to have you in my shop!"

Illya raised his head and watched as his partner shook hands with a plump Italian man.

"Signor Adessi," Napoleon greeted with a dazzling smile, "How has business been since my last visit? Excellent, I presume?"

Adessi gave a halfhearted shrug. "We have seen better seasons. But we aren't worried. The holidays always bring in an abundance of customers. Speaking of customers..." Illya's muscles tightened as the shop owner looked over at him, "Who is your friend? I don't believe I've seen him around this part of town before."

"Ah, yes. This is my business partner, Illya." Napoleon gave the Russian a small gesture, silently inviting him closer. "Illya, this is Francesco Adessi. He is the owner of the shop and a long time friend of mine."

Illya clenched and unclenched his fists a few times before hesitantly stepping forward and taking Adessi's outstretched hand.

"It is always a pleasure to meet Mr. Solo's companions," the jovial Italian said as he shook Illya's hand. "Now, what brings you two to my shop today?"

Napoleon and Illya shared a glance, Illya silently berating him for forcing him into this situation. "Well, Illya here," he gestured to his friend as he spoke, "Is in need of a suit for tonight's party and I was hoping you would have a few in his size."

Adessi's eyes wandered from Napoleon and scanned over Illya. The Russian straightened in defense, fingers threatening to curl into a fist in response to the unwanted gaze. As much as he wanted to throw a rack of suits across the room and flee from the shop, the thought of having to squeeze into the back of another diminutive taxi was worse than being forced to try on clothing for what he assumed was simply Napoleon's amusement.

"Hmm... He is definitely a lot larger than most of my customers. But I believe I do have some that should work," Adessi proclaimed, "If you would follow me to the fitting area."

Napoleon and Illya followed him to the back of the shop where there were several dressing rooms and a half-circle of mirrors positioned across from a leather chair which was seated upon an olive rug. Napoleon snuck by Illya's right side and sat down in the chair, giving his counterpart a cheeky grin in response to his disapproving glare.

"Now," Adessi spoke, drawing their attention away from one another, "If you would remove your jacket, signor. I'm just going to get a few measurements and see if we have anything in our selection that matches your size."

Illya hesitantly removed his coat and held it out toward Napoleon. "Hold this."

Napoleon took the jacket and draped it over his lap, still smirking in amusement at the situation. _He is lucky I do not kill him_ , Illya thought before straightening and stepping into the center of the rug where Adessi proceeded to take his measurements.

After a quick round with his measuring tape, Adessi had every bit of data he needed to find the proper suits. Once Adessi excused himself to search the shop for his sizes, Illya turned toward Napoleon and crossed his arms, giving his American companion a displeased frown.

"I do not see why I cannot wear my jacket. It is perfectly good jacket for social gathering," he asserted.

"Perhaps in Moscow it is. But here in New York, the dress code is much different. You've got to dress to impress tonight, Peril," Napoleon responded knowingly, "Especially if you want any shot at getting within arm's reach of Ms. Mellon. She won't want anything to do with a man strutting about in tweed."

Illya frowned and opened his mouth to argue, only to be cut off by Adessi's exclamation.

"Perfetto! I have four that I think will look excellent on you, my friend," Adessi said as he returned with a pile of suits draped over his left arm. He walked over to the nearest dressing room and pried the door open. "If you require any assistance, do not hesitate to call for me."

Illya gave the man a slight nod of acknowledgement and watched as Adessi returned to his register to work on inventory papers. He then glanced over at Napoleon, giving his partner an indignant glare before disappearing into the dressing room.

 

* * *

 

Trying on suits was absolute hell. The first suit didn't even come close to fitting properly. In fact, he nearly tore the jacket in half just trying to get it on his massive shoulders. The second was extremely tight, making it feel as though a vice were gripping at every muscle from the biceps down. The third, a navy blue two piece Roymont, was a bit snug at the waist, but accentuated his chest and shoulders. He stepped out of the dressing room believing he had found one his companion would approve of. However, Napoleon gave him a quick look over before shaking his head and gesturing for him to step back inside.

Illya closed the door and looked at the last suit that was hanging on the wall. If this one didn't fit, he was out of luck and he would be wearing his tweed jacket whether Napoleon liked it or not.

Once he had the suit on, he stood in silence, staring at himself in the mirror. The pinstripe was a style he found distasteful and the padding in his shoulders made him look far too formal.

"I am not wearing this," he shouted.

"Oh come on! Just step out and let me have a look would you?" He could practically _hear_ Napoleon roll his eyes at his stubbornness.

Murmuring a sharp string of curses in his native tongue, Illya pried open the door and stepped out onto the olive rug. The moment Napoleon saw him, his expression seemed to change from arrogantly entertained to completely astounded. His iridescent eyes widened, his brow raised, and the smirk that was painted on his face vanished as his jaw dropped.

"Well, I'll be damned," Napoleon breathed out in disbelief.

Illya furrowed his brow. "Why are you staring at me like this?"

Napoleon stood up and raised a hand. "Relax, Peril. It's a good kind of stare. Trust me." The American strolled over to him before walking a slow circle around his body.

Illya instinctively tensed up, craning his neck in an attempt to be as erect as possible. It wasn't that he didn't trust Napoleon. He was just naturally defensive, especially when someone was behind him and out of his sight.

"This is definitely the one," Napoleon said contently as he took his position directly in front of him, "Although we really ought to work on your tying skills." The American reached up and took a hold of the tie, triggering Illya's defense mechanism. Before Napoleon knew what was coming, a giant hand was grasping his wrist and squeezing it to the point of agonizing pain. Napoleon hissed as Illya twisted his arm and forced him into a submissive position.

"Ow, ow, ow! Easy, Peril! I was just trying to adjust your tie, not strangle you with it!"

Illya immediately released him and clenched his fists. "I... Apologize. I am not used to being..." He let his sentence fade, unsure of the wording he intended to use.

"Not used to being touched without it indicating a threat against your life?" Napoleon said knowingly as he straightened up and rubbed at his aching wrist.

Illya clenched his jaw. "Yes." He lowered his head slightly in attempt to avoid eye contact. The last thing he wanted Napoleon Solo to know was that he felt guilty and ashamed of himself for his mistake.

To his surprise, Napoleon didn't keep his distance out of fear of being attacked. In fact he did quite the opposite: he closed the space between them, stepping forward until he was in Illya's personal space. Every muscle in Illya's body immediately tightened and he anxiously leaned back to prevent himself from inflicting any sort of physical harm upon his partner.

"What are you doing?" Illya murmured lowly.

Napoleon simply smiled and raised his hands from beside his thighs. "Relax. I'm just going to fix your tie."

Illya's teeth ground together as he watched Napoleon's hands cautiously reach for the knot of his tie. His eyes were sharp and unblinking, giving him the uncanny resemblance of an eagle observing the potential threat of an approaching human. The second Napoleon's fingers grasped his tie, he flinched and inhaled sharply, instincts screaming at him to take a hold of Napoleon's throat and squeeze the life right out of him. But this time he had self-control.

Napoleon's actions were careful and calculated, his fingers daintily working to retie the knot between his collar. It was an odd thing to witness. Hands that were capable of killing another man with absolute precision were now so painstakingly gentle that Illya was curious as to what other hidden talents they possessed.

"You really ought to learn how to tie one of these properly," Napoleon said, drawing Illya out of his trance and forcing him to shift his gaze from Napoleon's hands.

"I do not see the purpose of learning if I do not like to wear them."

"That's a shame. 'Cause you look damn good wearing 'em." Napoleon smirked up at him and carefully shimmied the knot into place. "Then again, I wouldn't mind seeing it on my bedroom floor either."

Illya furrowed his brow in confusion as he desperately tried to understand what Napoleon meant by his comment. Unfortunately, when he opened his mouth to ask for clarification, Napoleon turned away and called out to Adessi.

"We'll take this one," Napoleon beamed as Adessi rushed over.

Adessi looked Illya over from head to toe and nodded in approval. "Excellent choice. It suits you very well, signor. Will you be needing any shoes or belts as well?"

"Yes, he'll need a pair of plain toe oxfords. In black, please."

"Of course, Mr. Solo. I'll grab those for you right away and help you at the register whenever you two are ready to check out."

"Grazie, Signor Adessi."

Once Adessi was busying himself with locating the appropriate pair of shoes, Napoleon turned back to face Illya and gave him a charming grin. "Alright, Peril. Time to strip."

Illya frowned, narrowing his eyes. "Watch your tongue, Cowboy, or I'll break the chair over your head."

Napoleon chuckled freely and plopped down into his seat. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, my friend."

Illya rolled his eyes and gave his companion a look of injunction before making his way back to the dressing room to change.

As he unbuttoned his jacket, he couldn't help but imagine Napoleon's meticulous fingers working at the nooks and creases of his clothing. There was something so mesmerizing about watching him work, about seeing those tanned hands so close to caressing his chest and neck. He ceased working on the knot of his tie and slowly dragged his palm over the silk all the way down to its tip before gliding back up to the knot.

 By that point, his imagination was running wild. He could see Napoleon's mysterious eyes gazing up at him with a sense of intrigue and desire, could practically hear his voice whispering to him, _Relax, Illya. Just trust me_.

Illya closed his eyes and let his hand wander up to his neck, fingertips lightly brushing over the firm line of his collarbone. From there they slid up to his jaw and down his chin, then from his chin to his bottom lip. It was unusual for him to long for touch. He had never yearned for intimate contact, had never even fantasized about surrendering to the discretion of another human being. But now... Now he was beginning to crave it. He wanted to feel the gentle caress of fingers on his skin, to feel the warmth of another person's touch. He wanted to let go of his reservations and just surrender. He wanted to put his life in another person's hands. But not just in anyone's hands.

 _Napoleon_.

A knock on the dressing room door tore him from his thoughts and the sound of Napoleon's voice broke through the silence. "You all right in there? You haven't gotten trapped in that tie have you?"

"N-No. I am just... Taking another look at the suit before I purchase," he stuttered.

"Well don't take too long. We still have things to do before the party tonight." There was a brief pause before Napoleon added, "I'm going to go pay. I'll wait for you outside."

Illya's brow immediately furrowed. Without a second thought, he threw the door open, looking slightly disheveled with his tie hanging loosely around his neck and jacket draping off of his right shoulder. "You are paying for this?"

Napoleon gave him a confused look. "Yes... Is there a problem with that?"

Illya frowned. "I should be the one to pay for suit. Not you. I am the one wearing it after all."

Napoleon shook his head and raised his hand in a gesture of protest. "Consider it a gift," he said with a charming grin. "Now get changed would you? As much as I love myself a nice suit, I'd rather not stay at the tailor's all day."

Napoleon turned to make his way over to the register, but Illya wasn't going to let him. Not yet. He reached out and grabbed Napoleon's forearm. "Wait. I..." He swallowed and looked down at the carpet beneath their feet as he tried to find the words he wished to speak. "Thank you. For this gift. People do not usually buy me things."

When he raised his head to look at Napoleon, he was surprised by the expression on his partner's face. It was so soft, so full of genuine adoration that Illya swore his body temperature spiked in response. He nearly held his breath as Napoleon turned to face him properly and reached up to finish removing his tie. "Well, things are going to change for you, my dear Peril," Napoleon assured him with an enchanting grin, "I may just have to take it upon myself to pamper you once in a while."

Napoleon draped the tie over the arm of the chair behind him and eased the jacket off of Illya's shoulder. His heart began beating rapidly, pounding against his chest so hard he swore the sound was echoing in his ears. He was in disbelief. Was he fantasizing again? Had he gone back inside the dressing room and closed his eyes to continue his earlier thoughts?

No. This was real. The meticulous hands working the jacket down his arms were not his. They were Napoleon's. A chill shot down his spine as the realization struck him. It was happening. He was instilling trust in another person, allowing himself to submit to another person's touch.

To his dismay, however, it was over just as quickly as it had started. Within a matter of seconds, Napoleon was stepping back and draping the jacket over his forearm. "I'm sure you can handle the rest yourself," Napoleon said as he grabbed the tie off the chair.

Illya did his best to bury his feelings off disappointment but, judging by Napoleon's next statement, he hadn't done a very good job.

"Unless, you'd like some help."

Illya's breath caught in his throat as he watched a seductive smirk tug at the American's lips. That was it. His cover was blown. Napoleon had breached his weakened defenses and now had access to the inner desires Illya had desperately tried to protect.

Unable to form a proper sentence, Illya simply nodded. Napoleon's eyes seemed to darken and the smirk on his face grew wider. He dropped the jacket onto the chair and unbuttoned his own. "I think I can lend a hand for a few minutes." He slunk over to his partner and brushed his hand over Illya's chest, making the Russian's heart skip a beat. The hand then slid up to the collar of his shirt where his methodical fingers eased open the top button. Illya was completely frozen, pupils blown as he watched Napoleon's every move like a hawk.

As Napoleon popped the second button, he leaned up and whispered into Illya's ear. "You might want to think about stepping into the dressing room before I provide any further assistance."

Without a single word spoken, Illya pedaled backward into the dressing room, dragging Napoleon along with him. In a matter of minutes, what had once been a torturous trip to the tailor's had quickly become an outing with Napoleon Solo he would never forget. And, judging by Adessi's uncomfortable expression once they emerged from the dressing room later on, it was one the shop owner would never forget either.


End file.
